


Bitter/Sweet

by VisceralViscaria



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, I promise, M/M, POV Alternating, Poor Will, kitchen shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 02:53:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2716235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VisceralViscaria/pseuds/VisceralViscaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>When he'd asked Beverly for the recipe, she told him it would be easy, that he wouldn't even need to practice. But as Will stared down at the paper in his hand, he couldn't help but think that maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.</i>
</p><p>---</p><p>Will tries to bake Hannibal a cake. Tries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> send help I've trapped myself in fluffy hannigram hell. I'm supposed to be writing for another fic of mine right now, but this one has been sitting in here for a solid three months and needed completing! Forgive me :( If they're both a little OOC, I apologize. Writing in-character hannigram fluff is somehow harder than it seems?? Maybe I just suck at writing established relationships. Either way, sorry.

***

 

            The first fat, heavy raindrop collided with the windshield of his Bentley mere seconds after he'd slid into the front seat. A myriad of them began to fall from the sky as he pulled out of the parking lot, the cold liquid's pattering rising above the gentle notes of Vivaldi flowing from the black dashboard speakers. He considered himself to be rather lucky; it had yet to freeze into an icy mess that would make the commute to his home a needless pain. If it did it wouldn't surprise him. In the frigid temperatures of February, it was a small miracle that it hadn't been coming down as snow instead.

 

            Hannibal tapped his thumb where it rested against the leather steering wheel. Though he didn't spare the Rolex strapped to his wrist a glance, he knew that it was seven forty four PM, February sixth. His birthday. Lips tightening into a pale, thin line, his hands automatically clenched.

 

            Around this time every year, he was expected to throw a lavish party for the darlings of Baltimore's high society. The task of making arrangements, sending out hand-written invitations, and procuring his preferred meat took up a majority of his time days in advance. He was then expected to play the perfect host throughout the night, unfortunately meaning that his time would be spent carefully navigating the choppy waters of interacting with favored acquaintances as well as riff-raff and swine. The mere thought of not only tolerating the inevitable rudeness but also maintaining a pleasant facade on his birthday of all days was exhausting.

 

            But this year, he had something else in mind. Instead of a horde of sous chefs arriving to help with food preparation, only one guest would be waiting in his kitchen. He and this guest would dine alone.

 

            Something in Hannibal's expression softened, noticeable only to those who knew him well, and more specifically, a certain set of piercing blue eyes. Will Graham. At first, the profiler had been a simple fascination, something he'd been sure would pass with time. But there was a darkness within him that called to Hannibal's own, and what begun as friendly affection had quickly blossomed into obsession. The twists and turns of his mind were seemingly endless. He wanted to explore them as much as he could for as long as Will would permit, maybe longer if he was being honest.

 

            When Will had declared that he didn't find him interesting, he had told him that he would and done everything in his power to ensure that he made good on his promise. He knew he had proven himself far more than 'interesting', smirking at the memory of their first kiss which Will had initiated himself one night in his office. That had been two months ago after several long months of courting. Hannibal had to admit, it was almost startling how naturally his and Will's lives seemed to fit. The times when they weren't at each other's sides felt empty and wrong. Luckily, the length of those times was continuing to shrink.

 

            The drops of rain were still pelting his windshield by the time he pulled up to his house and parked next to another car. Peering through the streams of water running down the glass, he could see light shining out of a few windows, though somewhat muted by the curtains. His heart warmed at the thought of seeing Will inside and the corner of his lips quirked up into a small smile. Reaching over to the passenger seat, he retrieved the large black umbrella he had set there before leaving that morning and opened the door, simultaneously opening the umbrella and lifting it above his head. Not a drop of water touched his person as he walked up the driveway. He took his time, eyes casually landing on the front door. While he appeared to be calm, inside he was buzzing with a mixture of anticipation and curiosity.

 

            Just that morning, Will had shared a similar energy. Hannibal knew he was hiding something, but played the part of ignorance diligently even as he knew that Will would see right through it. For someone so adept at reading others, Will was an open book when it came to his emotions. It was obvious that he had planned something for his birthday. He chuckled, closing the umbrella and placing it in a stand by the door now that he was safely dry beneath the overhang. Twisting the knob, he stepped inside, wondering what he might see.

 

            The first thing to hit him was the smell of something burning. His previous curiosity was replaced with rising concern. He shut the door and swiftly strode to his kitchen. "Will, are you alri-" For the first time in many years, he was left absolutely speechless.

 

            His pristine kitchen was a complete mess. A fine coating of flour covered nearly every conceivable surface, a large ring of it surrounding the tattered remains of what appeared to be an empty sack. The brown cardboard of an egg carton lay sadly on its side, surrounded by shattered eggshells and gooey yolks, some of them having ruptured and leaked out onto the tiles. Near the fridge was a large puddle of milk. Splatters indicated that something had fallen into it, and judging by the footprints leading away he could guess what that something had been. In the sink, a hastily stacked pile of utensils, a glass, and a bowl, both dirty and clean, took up most of the space. The oven door was open, puffs of smoke escaping into the room. Strings of white and red icing dripped off of the refrigerator door and fell to the ground.

 

            In the eye of the storm, Will leaned against the counter on his elbows, cradling his flour covered head in his hands. Hannibal spotted one of his oven mitts at his side next to a pan holding a charred, blackened cake. Faint wisps of smoke still rose from the burnt crisp, curling up into the air to mingle with that which already hung overhead. It was hard to believe that the smoke detector hadn't gone off.

 

            Aside from the occasional drip of water falling from the tap into the sink, there was silence.


	2. Good Intentions

~~~ _Previously_ ~~~

 

            Will pulled up the driveway slowly, gravel crunching under his tires. He'd finally managed to convince Jack to let him leave early and he knew that Hannibal wouldn't get back until around nine. Still, it felt off to be wandering into his home while he was away. He wouldn't be alone for very long though. Thanks to Jack's stubbornness, he'd left Quantico later than planned and barely had time to drop by his house before coming over. Checking his watch anxiously, he breathed a sigh of relief. Seven twenty three. That left him plenty of time. 

 

            Probably.

 

            He got out of his car and let the door slam shut behind him, preoccupied with the grocery bag looped over his arm. Inside were two bags of icing, one white and one red. These were the only ingredients he'd had to bring himself, everything else already found when he'd covertly scoped out Hannibal's kitchen that morning. Or tried to anyway. Hannibal had pretended not to notice, but Will knew that he did. While it was a little disheartening, he hadn't expected to get away with it in the first place.

 

            Ignoring the raindrops landing on his skin, he jogged up to the door and fished around in his pocket. He pulled out his keyring and found the right one, slipping it into the lock. It opened smoothly and he tucked the ring back into his jeans before letting himself in.

 

            Without stopping he headed for the kitchen. Hannibal was a culinary genius and always created beautiful dishes for him. Will may not have been as skilled as his partner, but he wasn't helpless when it came to cooking. So he'd figured that he should try and make Hannibal something for once. A cake was as good a place to start as any, and he wanted to do something special. And it was definitely special as he would probably never do this again.

 

            He gingerly placed the bags of icing on the counter before crumpling the grocery bag into a ball and throwing it away. Thinking back to that morning as well as all of the times he had watched Hannibal glide through this room, he was able to assemble a small pile of ingredients and necessary utensils. The boxes of his mental checklist were crossed out in his head. Then he took a folded piece of paper out of his pocket, opening it and nervously licking his lips. 

 

            When he'd asked Beverly for the recipe, she told him it would be easy, that he wouldn't even need to practice. But as Will stared down at the paper in his hand, he couldn't help but think that maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. This would be his first time baking from scratch and the last thing he wanted to do was make a mess of Hannibal's kitchen on his birthday. A glance at his watch showed that ten minutes had passed already. With a steadying breath, he got to work.

 

            Thirty minutes in, everything was going surprisingly well. The only obstacle he'd had to tackle was Beverly's abominable handwriting, the messy scrawl occasionally forcing him to stop and squint at it for a while to decipher the next step. Pausing in his stirring of a bowl of creamy batter, he set it down and lifted the whisk out, bringing it up to his mouth for a taste. His tongue darted out to get a tiny lick, the following burst of sugary goodness making him smile. The whisk was left in the sink. 

 

            He turned his attention to the bowl, lifting it and carefully pouring the completed batter into a rectangular baking pan which he'd already coated with butter. When the last traces had made it in, he took it to the oven and slid it onto the metal shelf inside. All of the cookware in the kitchen was state of the art, the oven included, so it was difficult to figure out exactly how to tweak the knobs. After double checking, he thought he'd gotten it right and closed the door. Will would leave it to bake as he cleaned up his mess.

 

            He started by clearing away the used bowl and other various things he'd dirtied, carrying them all to the sink and putting them in with the whisk. Just before he turned the water on, he hesitated. His throat was feeling parched and if he wanted to use a glass on getting something to drink, now was the time. He took one down from a cabinet and walked over to the island where he'd left the milk. The jug was brought with him as he moved to stand in front of the fridge. Unscrewing the cap, he held up the glass and began pouring the white liquid in.

 

            At that exact moment the phone chose to ring. He jumped involuntarily, splashing milk over his hands and onto the floor before he could stop it. Cursing quietly, he capped the milk and put it into the refrigerator, eyeing the drops rolling off of the glass and his hands with frustration. Will drained the glass quickly and brought it to the sink with his hand poised beneath it to catch any falling milk. He thought of the puddle he'd left behind with a sigh, knowing he'd have to clean it up later. For now, he was content to scrub at the dishes and his hands.

 

            Will didn't know how long he'd been washing, but an alarming scent slowly cut through the pleasant distraction of the mindless activity. He glanced over to the oven suspiciously, eyes narrowing. Something was burning.

 

            Abandoning the sink, he raced over to the island and scooped up Beverly's note. The cake shouldn't have been done for another fifteen minutes, let alone be hot enough to char. His eyes scanned over the page as he wracked his brain for any hint of his potential mistake. They finally landed on the temperature he'd been instructed to heat the oven to. Heart leaping into his throat, he found it. What he had read as an eight was actually a three. He'd fucked up.

 

            Scrambling toward the oven, he just barely remembered to put on one of the oven mitts hanging on the wall before tugging down the door. He waved his other hand in front of his face and coughed as a plume of smoke flew directly into his face. As soon as he saw it, he knew he had figured it out too late. The thing in the pan could hardly be considered a cake, especially not for someone with a palette as refined as Hannibal's. He scowled and latched onto one side of the pan, angrily yanking it out and spinning on his heel to throw it into the garbage can.

 

            Unfortunately, his foot slid in the temporarily forgotten puddle of milk and had him fumbling as he tottered and struggled to regain his balance. His mind blanked. There were only two options, hold the pan or drop it.

 

           He held it with both hands, instantly regretting it and crying out as the hot metal seared his unprotected palm. Stumbling over to the counter, his eyes stung with unshed tears. He needed to let go of the pan. In his rush to put it down, he accidentally laid it on top of the bags of icing he'd set out. Long strands of red and white spurt out and hit the fridge. Wide eyes stared at the colorful waste with dread.

 

            His breath hitched in his throat. Will looked around desperately, feeling shaky as he took off the oven mitt and reached out to straighten things with trembling hands. Maybe he could still fix this, get rid of the evidence. After all, it was better to have Hannibal disappointed with him than angry. Mind slipping into a haze of panic while he thought of the best way to hide the whole thing, he didn't pay enough attention to what he was doing. Though he'd meant to pick it up, instead he nudged the entire nearly full carton of eggs off of the counter and onto the floor. Their fragile shells cracked the moment they hit the tiles, runny fluids going everywhere.

 

            He didn't know what to do, so he kept moving. Grabbing the bag of flour, he tried to cross the kitchen and put it back into the pantry. This time, when he slipped in the puddle of milk he truly fell. His back slammed against the ground and drew out a hiss of pain. Will had dropped the sack of flour as well, unable to do anything as a poof of white instantly rose and covered _everything,_ including him. Lying there in shock, he watched the cloud of smoke drifting through the air reach up and brush the ceiling. Why? Why had he ever thought this could possibly be a good idea?

 

            Eventually he rose, already feeling sore from the fall. He was sure he'd be wearing bruises for days. His shirt was soaked and clung to his skin, the stickiness incredibly unpleasant. Wandering around and peering into cabinets, he knew that he was leaving a trail of milky footprints in his wake. _Paper towels. Where the hell does Hannibal keep the paper towels?_ The doors opened faster and faster but his search yielded nothing. _Does he even have them?!_

Panic had officially taken over now. This wasn't him sweating through the thousand thread-count silk sheets in their bedroom. This wasn't leaving the toothpaste uncapped or soap bubbles on the shower walls. This wasn't even Winston getting muddy paw prints all over the living room rug. This was Hannibal's kitchen, his _sanctuary_ , the heart of the house. 

 

            And he had just single-handedly ruined it. 

 

            Right on time, he heard Hannibal's car driving up. Nothing had been cleaned. He was overwhelmed by a wave of despair as the sound of the door opening reached his ears. Giving up, he put his head in his hands and waited for him to walk in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The third part should be written and posted some time tomorrow.


	3. Sweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, sorry about the delay! :/ I had to attend a thing yesterday and didn't get time to write anything. Luckily I did today! I forgot to mention this earlier, but February sixth isn't actually Hannibal's birthday. I tried to look it up, but it seems like you can only find the year unfortunately.

\--- _Present_ \---

 

            As Hannibal looked over everything, Will curled in on himself with a certain degree of awkwardness. The silence stretched on and hung heavily, saying more than either of them could at the moment. Sanguine eyes finally settled on him.

 

            "Come here."

 

            Will flinched at his voice's monotony. He couldn't read him at all, but he knew he had to be angry. Slowly straightening out, he trudged over and stopped in front of him, eyes downcast. He wondered if this was how his dogs felt after doing something bad and awaiting punishment.

 

            Meanwhile, Hannibal studied him closely. His shirt sleeves had been rolled up to the elbow, but the bottom edges were dark with water anyway. Will was covered in a thin dusting of flour, the white loudly contrasting with the brown of his curls. Somehow a dollop of red icing had ended up on his left cheek, lower than his eye by about an inch. Stains of what must have been the milk pooled around the sides of his flannel and completely soaked the backs of his legs. With his shoulders slumped and head down, he was the epitome of defeat. It was quite adorable. Finally, he pulled him to his chest and wrapped his arms around him in a lose embrace. 

 

            Will stiffened and tried to step back, placing his hands on his chest. He knew he was filthy and began to protest, still struggling to escape. "Your suit-"

 

            He wasn't about to let him get away. Hannibal said nothing and simply squeezed tighter, waiting for his squirming to end. He got his wish when Will gave in and melted against him before hesitantly raising his arms to wrap around his waist. His hands rubbed soothing circles into his back as he gently scolded him. "Compared to you my suit is nothing. You know that, Will." Noticing the reddened top of his ear, he smiled faintly. "Did you do this for me?"

 

            The fingers at his back clutched his shirt, bunching up the fabric. Will answered with a voice so small it was difficult to hear even from this distance. He could feel the ghosts of vibrations where their chests touched. "I wanted to bake you a cake."

 

            "Thank you."

 

            Will was shocked to find genuine gratitude in his words. Of all the potential reactions he could think of, this one hadn't made it to the list. He'd been expecting wrath or discontent and couldn't understand why he hadn't gotten it. Hiding his face in his shirt, he nestled into the crook of his neck. He didn't deserve to be hugged and comforted, but it was so nice that he could've cried with relief.

 

            Warm breath tickled Hannibal's skin as Will mumbled something from where he'd pressed against it. "What was that, my dearest?" He frowned as Will moved to pull away, but was pleasantly surprised to see that it was to lift his head and look him straight in the eye.

 

            "Happy birthday." He darted forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek, immediately turning away to stare down and to the side.

 

            Watching a blush rise to his cheeks with amusement, Hannibal again felt warmth spread through his heart. That little kiss had been incredibly endearing and he would be sure to show his appreciation for Will's efforts. He gently lifted his chin and turned him his way. Leaning in, he kissed him properly this time, Will's hands trailing up his back and curling around his shoulders. 

 

            They broke away and pressed their foreheads together, breathing faster than before. After a few seconds, Hannibal startled a laugh out of Will by licking the icing off his cheek. He hummed pleasantly, tongue peaking out to chase the flavor left behind on his lips. "If it is any consolation, you definitely have good taste." 

 

            Will couldn't believe it, but he actually giggled. "Did you really just make that pun?"

 

            "It is entirely your fault for being so sweet." How he managed to say it with a straight face Will would never know.

 

            The fingers of one hand twined together with Hannibal's as he playfully batted at his arm. He laughed and gave his hand a squeeze. That had been a mistake. His burnt palm stung, making him wince. Will tried to hide the pain, but sharp eyes had already picked up on it.

 

            Frowning, he gently shifted to cradle the injured hand in both of his, flipping it to look at the palm. It was red and slightly swollen. When he lightly touched it with his fingertips, it was hot. "Will, you should have told me if you injured yourself. How did you do this?"

 

            His other hand rose to ruffle his hair. He hadn't wanted to tell him just how much of a disaster this had been, but it looked like it was inevitable. "I, uh, slipped in the puddle while I was carrying the pan. Grabbed onto it to keep it from falling. My hand got a little singed."

 

            Hannibal's brow rose at the condensed story, but he didn't comment. His main concern at the moment lied with easing Will's pain. "...Well, I must insist that we treat it."

 

            "I'm fine, it's tiny and doesn't hurt." The tilt of Hannibal's head told him that he hadn't forgotten his wince. "Much." Redirecting his attention with a sweeping gesture toward the chaos around them, he saw Hannibal narrow his eyes. "Besides, I still have to clean up my mess." There was no way he would let him do that on his birthday. His manners and guilt wouldn't allow it.

 

            "While I still have no idea how baking a cake could lead to all of this, I cannot let you clean this with a burn like this." His tone was firm and unwavering. Will would not be able to change his mind.

 

            Recognizing the futility of arguing, Will smiled weakly. "At least I didn't try to make dinner. I'm sorry for ruining your evening."

 

            Hannibal's answering smile was soft, yet reassuring. "Nonsense. An evening with you is hardly ruined. And while I do enjoy your cooking-" His smile widened as Will rolled his eyes. "-I have already planned something for today."

 

            "Still, I'm sorry." His eyes, which had lowered to their hands, peeked up from beneath his lashes. "You really aren't mad at me? I kind of destroyed your kitchen and you won't even have a cake for your birthday." He chuckled sadly.

 

            Brushing a curl speckled with white away from his face, Hannibal quietly shushed him. "It would be a lie to say that I was pleased by what I saw when I walked in. But I also understand that you had good intentions and only wanted to do something for me."

 

            Will snorted. "Yeah, well, there's this saying about good intentions and the road to hell that you probably need to hear."

 

            "I don't need a cake, Will. I have you." He finally released him and stepped back, smirking at the picture Will made. "I think it would be a good idea for you to clean up a bit. In the meantime, I will clean up a bit as well. Please tell me when you've finished so I can treat your burn."

 

            With a nod of his head, Will turned away. But then he paused, glancing back over to him with a sly look on his face. "I could do that." He gave him a sudden kiss, threading his fingers through his hair, and then sauntered over to the stairs. "Or you could come join me."

 

            Watching him leave, he gave a sigh of fond exasperation. While the gesture was sweet, Will should have known better than to tempt him like this and expect to get away with it. Just as Hannibal knew better than to mention the cake he'd made yesterday. He took one last look around the kitchen before following his empath to their bedroom. A happy birthday indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will is always the only exception :) I'm sorry if the back and forth POV is hard to read. I actually wrote the first pun on accident, which was incredible because I suck at puns! There might be a sequel about a cooking lesson at some point...

**Author's Note:**

> [ My Tumblr](http://visceralviscaria.tumblr.com).


End file.
